Foods of love - welcome to Hedonist's Heaven.

Ok, it's official, we are hedonists of note. Not all of it is good for us, and from time to time, we do try to temper our ways, but you know how it goes, of late, we have kinda been on a roll. This hasn't been helped by receiving a gift of note from a divine couple, who just might have read us right, on the occasion of our 20th wedding anniversary, by giving us a six bottle wine cooler for the table.Yup, still relishing that great day. We were touched and surprized by the lovely gifts we received from our friends, thank you all, as we had specifically avoided the bridal registry route when we got married by simply inviting a few close friends to lunch, then forewarning them the day before that there was a little church service to attend beforehand. "Blow me down", they all said, and some people still do, to the girl who never wanted to get married nor have children. (There are reasons, I can assure you, but I won't go into them now.) Hence our milestone anniversary was such an important day for us, me in particular, as I have broken all family marital records by a long chalk, or three.

But back to the gifts good friends so kindly brought us, even though it was only their company and moral support we sought. I love the wine cooler which comfortably houses six bottles of wine or bubbly. It has such pizzazz and has "PARTY" stamped all over it's cute face. So what better than oysters to go with all the ice and MCC? My favourite source, other than a trip to the Knysna Oyster Factory (now a boring emporium, a far cry from it's fun and unpretentious days, way back when Suzy Q was a mere slip of a girl) is the Southern Cross Deli in the Westlake Lifestyle (whatever that might mean!?) Centre. Now true confessions of a semi Catholic raised girl (well I was finally baptised aged five and my mom used the Friday night fish torture as a means of brainwashing us into believing that fish was "brainfood") but these days I adore my goldfish flopping and reproducing in our fountain, and cook fish under duress, wearing a nose peg and rubber gloves, even though I know we should digest the smelly, oily little creatures at least three times a week. So to get me into a fish shop takes some doing, but you know me kids, the things I do for love (or oysters) So, Southern Cross Seafood Deli it is for me.  Ph: 021-7023922 for the most fabulous, fresh, shucked oysters and sushi platters. A quick call and a party is organized, whilst Suzy Q dons her old pinny and bakes the homemade soda bread Mr SQ adores. 

www.southerncrossseafood.co.za 

Saying all this, and being a pretty regular and loyal customer, I do wish Paul, the owner would take note on the odd occasion when I've mentioned a suspicious oyster, rather than playing the "nobody's ever complained bed bug letter trick" on me, and chuck in the odd replacement crustacean to keep me sweet, no harm keeping your top customer happy old chappy! We all know better now than to mess with your own darling Suzy Q!

Wishing you, dear kind people who are taking time to read me, a wonderful weekend. Love you xx

Astrology, astral travels and other psychic phenomena...

It's true that while I am a sensible, mainstream middle aged mom, (masquerading as my alter ego, that lil' rascal, Suzy Q) I have always had strong leanings to the paranormal and other slightly offbeat, inexplicable happenings. One of the reasons I enjoyed It never stays in Vegas, the brilliant book I mentioned yesterday by Lindy Hughes, is that Lucy could be me, barring a few of her encounters, but I shan't ruin the story for you.  Me and astrology? First thing I turn to in the paper and at the beginning of every year (very important this!) is my horoscope. Yes, I still have my battered Linda Goodman's Sun Signs and swear that we all have at least 70% of our personalities attributed to our star sign. Is Mr Suzy Q not as immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar (and an ox in the Chinese horoscope to boot - poor, soft little Suzy Q) and did you get me as that sweet natured, ever smiling, peace loving Libran? As well as being the loyal Chinese astrodog? Yes, I have consulted an astrologer (twice) and think that my children's career paths and lives can be guided by their stars. They are certainly true to their sun signs, and MUST find soul mates compatible with theirs.

Yes, I have been to a numerologist (once) who gave me an uncannily accurate description of my life, leanings and also individual family members on the strength of our names and birth dates.  Ha, and my obstetrician laughed when I accused him of interfering in the whole life plan and astral chart of one of our baby's when her birthdate was arranged around his annual tarentaal shoot. RIP dear old friend, I miss you so much, as you were so much more than a medical man to our family, you who safely brought  our two precious angels into the world. 

Hey, but now that you mention it, this was the one family member whom she couldn't give me any really accurate information about; makes me think, hmmm...? Cosmic confusion when medical science and the scalpel interfere with the stars, what? But my faith in numbers is steadfast, and (further confessions of a cosmic traveller) I splash out five bucks a week taking a Lotto ticket using our birthdays and anniversary dates, utterly and absolutely convinced that a BIG win is out there (to be shared with all of you,  obviously) just when I don't need the spare cash. 


Anyway, enough of confessions, as Mr SQ, who I know sneaks a look at this blog from time to time, will now know where the money I squirrel away in the jam jar goes. He, dear, sweet,  sensible, steadfast, indulgent, (I swear I never mentioned the word "stubborn") man that he is, laughs at these leanings of mine. His answer to all female problems is a prescription for a Vitamin P injection (though not for his daughters, needless to say!!) and his analysis of dreams (yes, I have my dream book right next to my bed as well) is that it is all psychosexual. When any dream theme comes up in the mornings, The Misses SQ just roll their eyes and say, "You know what Dad would say." So I won't tell him that while I was all alone here last night I had a dream about a nest of snakes in my jar of Herbs de Provence. Figure that one out Freud!? Needless to say, the book says snakes are symbolic (no kidding) of suppressed sexuality or creativity. Let's hope for the latter and that writing this blog for you dear sweet friends and family (any strangers out there, I'd love to know?) will put paid to whatever brought that on. Of course analysing dreams is a great line to be in, and I believe there are university courses on it in the USA. I mean, who's to say if you're wrong or right? It's hardly an exact science. Maybe that should be my next party trick...

Funnily enough, I've never been to a fortune teller, far too Catholic for that, but I have gone to great lengths to have my aura photographed in Singapore. I found myself in a purely Chinese mall; the taxi driver had been a little taken aback when I asked to go there, far from Orchard Road, where nobody spoke English and all manner of suspect looking creatures were hanging ghoulishly from the food stalls. Now I challenge you to try to explain your desire to have your aura photographed by means of sign language. I was coerced into a reflexology stall by the only person who seemed to have any inkling of what I was hoping to do as a trade off for directions, and given a heavenly foot massage, though the rubber -flip flops- in any public shower- girl in me was horrified with what I might acquire there, having first had a hot foot jacuzzi type thing. I asked him about my pressure points, afraid of what he might say about my liver after a spot of high living, but he seemed perplexed, referred to his manual, and told me about something most worrying, of which I was totally unaware, and which was diagnosed the week of my return home. But not to worry, kids, I think and hope it's all under control now, and your daily frothy column is still under way for the forseeable future...


Yes, I did finally get my aura photographed by a sweet young thing, it was such fun, and yes, she did say lovely things about the lights which radiated all around me. But you all knew that anyway, didn't you?

All these harmless attempts to better understand oneself, loved ones and life patterns are a lot more helpful and a lot less traumatic than sitting in front of an unsympathetic, nodding shrink, surrounded by a sea of sodden snot rags, pretending to have had a happy childhood. (Just don't ask me how I figured that out, whatever you do! Your Suzy Q just listens and learns a lot.) Had I had the good fortune of being born to nurturing, stable parents, I might not be starting out at this late stage of my life to try to fulfill a lifetime dream, by writing this blog, but hey, my good luck has come later in life. My formative years made "Survival" my middle name, and it really is never too late to learn to skate, nor to have a happy childhood now, that's what I say! 

So please keep reading, I can't tell you how much your encouragement and support means to me. THANK YOU one and all. (You do know that you can leave a comment or email me on suzyqueue75@gmail.com? C'mon, please do, it keeps me going and the ink flowing... Now, what'll it be - a poetry page next?))

Love,
Suzy Q

Home Alone... (well almost)

The rarest of all rare things has happened to me. I've often dreamed of this happening, but now that it has, I'm not really sure that I'm enjoying it. Mr Suzy Q is away on business, and sadly long gone are the days when the little ones used to fight about whose turn it was to share my bed during his absences, usually ending up with both of them, warm and restless as kittens in bed and me on the floor. No, the little Misses SQ are both sleeping out, leaving me home alone with Rex, and that famous bachelor girl dinner of a packet of Nacho's and a few glasses of wine.( Rex I might mention is being hand fed the finest biltong, usually reserved for Springbok games only, but please don't mention this to Mr SQ, and is lying with his head on my chest, trying desperately to either distract me or write for me.) 

Well it has been a nerve wracking day, what can I say? Firstly I had to stop procrastinating and give Miss SQ No 2 a little nudge in the direction of the driving license she so desperately desires. Term time means she's too busy or too tired to practice driving, but now that the holidays are upon us, it's our daily duty to drive a bit together every day. Now, while this is not meant as a means of comparison, as we mothers already know all too well how different each of our offspring are, Miss SQ No 1 sailed through learning to cycle and got her driver's license first time off. Her younger sibling, as soon as she got her balance on a bicycle, headed straight for the first and only tree she could see. So you can understand why I am like the Push-me-pull-you in Dr. Doolittle. Also, I simply can't understand why a straight A English student can't distinguish between the words "stop" and "go"? Anybody who hasn't sat in a busy intersection in a car in the hands of a stalling teenager has never experienced real terror. I'd rather a double feature (remember those?) of The Shining and Blind Terror, but still, these duties seem to befall me. Needless to say, the little lunch we had planned afterwards never happened - perhaps on another, non driving lesson day.

Then there was that horrific accident on our doorstep which has upset me so badly. The fragility of life and the horror of being in the wrong place at the wrong time dear friends. Guardian angels please protect us all, especially our children all newly on the roads! 


Now those nearest to me know how I phantasize about my future life in my ice white, uncluttered cube with a divine, unobstructed sea view and very little else to do but sip champagne from our fabulous new wine cooler after a day of writing for you. No garbage, no groceries, no school run, no packed lunches, no faddy diets, no nothing except what I want to do for ME. (Whoever that might be after all these years of servitude!? Nothing like singing along to "Born to be Wild" whilst filling the sugar bowl and emptying the dishwasher hey gals?) But sad to say, tonight, an eerie quietude hangs heavy around our house. No laughter, no banter, no news of the day. No sharing of a meal and a bit of a chat about this and that. What will happen if I trip over Rex and crack my skull? I really am a little nervous. Jack the Ripper, are you out there anywhere? An article I read recently stated how much people are relishing living fulsome lives on their own. I'm not so sure right now.

But if Mr SQ could see me now, wow, what would he have to say? Rex and I are up on the couch, about to watch a doggy movie, all the doors and windows are open, my favourite old rock music is not quite blaring out, but it's there, and the wine will no doubt flow. I tend to blame this on my genes rather than on my lack of willpower - much easier. Maybe Rebel Girl will return for just one evening. But tomorrow will see your Suzy Q donning her pinny and putting a wholesome meal on the table, and eagerly awaiting the return of her brood with an oversized smile on her dial. Come back darlings, all is forgiven!

Uh oh, it's way past midnight, and oh damn, did the patio door accidentally slam shortly after our charming neighbour's lights went out? Honestly, you need to be more careful, shame on you Suzy Q!!


Night night y'all xx

Your weekly flash fiction fix kids!

I'm so glad you are enjoying the flash fiction I've delighted in writing for you, and I have a little corker coming your way today, so kick back during your coffee break and I hope you will enjoy today's offering.

I must admit that a few of you have enquired as to whether these have been written from personal experience. HONESTLY!! Suzy Q, a mother of high moral standing, has never been quite so affronted. I have come to this lofty role with a spotless reputation, but an abundant imagination, so all you smutty schoolboys out there, keep your peckers in your pockets and zip your lips. Ladies, you may read on...                                     

•                            The Mouse that Roared.
• 
  
• Granted I was a bit of a mouse. Maybe nobody had ever built me up to believe in myself, but that’s hardly an excuse to let a man, a mean, scaly man, whom I just imagined myself to be in love with, trample all over me. Maybe that’s putting it too mildly. Rather, why not take a ten ton truck and callously crush me? He dumped me after a hot fling at the Christmas party with the office tart.
• 
  
• 
  
• I couldn’t bear the shame of walking in every morning just as the sniggering stopped, and everybody pretended to be hard at work. Nor the pain it gave me to see them groping at that office aphrodisiac, the water cooler.  So, the mouse that barely squeaked resigned, because of that mean, scaly man, I just imagined I was still in love with, and walked out of my dream job.  The office tart slipped into my shoes just as stealthily as she’d leapt onto my man. Granted she was skinnier, prettier, and tittier, but I doubt she was wittier. Maybe her daddy had instilled a lifetime of self confidence (if not morality) in her and she truly believed she could achieve all her dreams and have whatever she so desired.
• 
• 
  
• I was desolate. I didn’t eat and drank too much and cried to soppy songs about heartbreak. But one day, one fine bright day, the sun started to shine again, and I made a plan. I used my pension money and joined the gym, and let’s say, I had a little work done, so that my appendages would not have looked out of place at a Miss Muizenberg pageant. My luck changed, and I won a makeover from a magazine; heaven knows I’d spent enough time entering competitions whilst weeping into my cups. I got to keep the clothes from the shoot, which accentuated my slim but newly improved figure. They changed my hairstyle and colour and taught me how to vamp it up. I started looking HOT and decided to capitalize on it.
• 
• 
  
• When I’d completed my act, I settled myself seductively on a barstool at the office watering hole at exactly 5pm. Sure as eggs, in came the lovebirds for their after work anaesthetic, although, was it my imagination, or were they looking a little less in love and more like an old married couple? Whilst sipping my mojito I crossed and uncrossed my slender legs so that my short little skirt offered the patrons an invitation to flirt. Lover Boy couldn’t take his eyes off me. When his amor mata went to powder her nose, or steal another woman’s man, he rushed to the bar to get her another white Cinzano and lemonade.
• 
• 
  
• “Excuse me,” he enquired, “but don’t I know you from somewhere?”
• I turned to eye him up and down, giving him enough time to get a good view of my expansive new cleavage. Honestly, he was Pavlov’s dog. I could have scooped his saliva up from the carpet with a tablespoon. Then I inhaled deeply on my Sobranie, and blew the smoke directly into his face.
• “No Sir, I don’t know you, I never knew you, and I certainly don’t want to know you now,” I replied.
• 
  
• Just then, Carl from the gym, you know, the one they call BB, short for the Body Beautiful, (and the face isn’t too bad either) came bounding over to me, all bulging biceps and bright smiles. Just before he kissed me full on my newly voluptuous red hot lips he cried,  “Oh thank heavens, HERE you are. I’ve been looking EVERYWHERE for you Suzy Q!”

Books, life, circumstances, fate...

Books and the written word are a not so secret passion of mine, so today's the day to share some recent readings with you. I presume that since you are kind enough to take precious time out of your day to read me, that we may just share similar interests?


Well, our darling Mr SQ, being the friendly, chatty type, once chanced upon two hikers up the mountain on his morning walk, who just happened to be speaking French. Never missing an opportunity to show off his schoolboy French (except when we really need it in a crisis on a French railway platform) he engaged them in conversation.


"Like hiking then?" he asked.
"Oui Monsieur," they replied, keeping the joke to themselves.
"Well, if you are visitors to the Mother City you must please come and have dinner with us," he cheerily invited.
"We'd love to, but we are busy launching our book this week. Would an 11pm dinner be too late for you?"
"No way, said my Handsome Hero," (for we have no children to raise at 6am and make lunches for and get to school by 7am!?)

Thus we met the charming Alexandre and Sonia Poussin, who had walked from Cape Town to the Sea of Galilee with two small rucksacks. Their first book, Africa Trek, takes them as far as Mount Kilimanjaro, and is almost as fascinating a read as having met them in person. Thank heavens Mr SQ cooked as well, forever keen to show off his belle cuisine, as they heartily approved of our midnight feast. As well as feeling awed by their stamina and achievements, I was shamed into realizing that they had insights into my beloved country of birth which I had never experienced, nor probably ever will. They had been hosted by high society, and roughed it in townships, and come out unscathed. How Sonia, a beautiful blonde, and seemingly fragile young mother survived is beyond me. What struck me most though, was the tangible poverty and desolation they described once leaving our borders, and they saw it all. What, would my crystal ball tell me, is in our future here? Will the rotten core of beautiful Africa erode us too at this most spectacular southern tip? I desperately hope not... I must admit that whilst I flew through their first book, I never quite made it through their second, not really sure why, perhaps it was coming up to the end of the year and all that that entails. I'll keep it aside to try again this winter.
Follow them on www.africatrek.com

A real little treasure has just landed on my lap. Apparently self published and written by a locally raised lady, Lindy Hughes, now living in Vancouver, It never stays in Vegas is an unputdownable read for any woman who has ever had a husband and children, and wondered what had become of the feisty young thing she had once been, when seemingly reduced to picking up the laundry, groceries, children and dog's poo, not to mention everybody else's flack.  Perhaps a few husbands should read it too. She has such a deft hand with the pen, that I hope this book is on every middle aged woman's bedside table, in all their book clubs and becomes a blockbuster movie too. Love, loss, loneliness, temptation, the rekindling of old flames, it's all there. You go Lindy!! 

www.itneverstaysinvegas.com

The other great book I read recently was Brooklyn by Colm Toibin, winner of the 2009 Costa Novel Award. It's a worthwhile if somewhat slow, weighty, book in which he gets the pathos and loneliness of a young immigrant girl from Ireland just right. After nearly collapsing under the weight of her homesickness, for these were days of scant communications, Eilis finally settles into her newfound home, and meets a nice young man and is accepted as one of his poor, but decent family. The whole theme to me centres on destiny and fate, two of my favourite subjects. What if her sister hadn't bumped into the priest home for his holidays from America? What if she hadn't married her fiancee in the USA to convince him of her love before she left for her sister's funeral? What if she'd then been able to stay in Ireland with the dashing lad of her youthful desires and live comfortably amongst her own? How did the rest of her life then turn out when she was then cast out?


What if I hadn't lingered for a chat on my way home this afternoon, and had been anywhere near the gigantic runaway truck which overturned and crushed a passing car and it's occupants at our gate? A chilling sight, a sobering thought, good night!


A somewhat traumatised, but grateful Suzy Q, with thoughts going out to all involved in that major accident, including as always, the rescue workers, who had a most grisly task to do. Take care out there.

Suzy Q goes (gasp!) factory shopping...

Now honestly girls (and guy) I was seriously not born to shop. Give me the wide open spaces and deep blue seas, but please, don't leave me in a shopping mall. To this end, I am, as a mother, a deep disappointment to the young Misses SQ, to whom shopping is a full time occupation, if not a religion. Ditto my dear sisters-in-law. At least Mr SQ should be happy to have acquired such a cheap date. At best, I'm skidding down the aisles of Pick 'n' Pay for my weekly Handy Andy and fresh milk fix and trying to stretch the mincemeat with stale breadcrumbs, at worst, buying a new pair of broeks once a decade at Woolly's. And for the rest, if it's sheets or lampshades or tackies we need, if Woolly's doesn't stock it, we don't need it.

Speaking of Woolly's, I've had a few queries from curious readers as to where I get to wine and dine for under R65, since my comment about the rather pricy Waterford wine tasting we did in my blog entry "Adventures into the Hinterland etc Part 1". Ok, so I gotta tell, since you've been so good about following me. When a serious shopping spree is required of me (ie. my credit card has to be handy) we head for the VnA Waterfront. At least there I can step outside and breathe deep of the fresh air and see my beloved mountain and ocean, when the music blaring from boutiques gets too much for me, and we STILL can't find pants in the perfect shade of blue. Then, my next best trick is to take refuge at the Woolly's Wine and Tapas Bar. Aaah, the view from my stool overlooking the harbour is one of my favourite places on earth. The decor is stylish and sexy, and the staff are really friendly and efficient. And here, Suzy Q dines on either a wholesome chicken and avocado, or trout and caper salad, which just happen to come with a complimentary glass of ice cold Darling Sauvignon Blanc, all for the princely sum of, wait for it, and don't faint, R55!! It's not actually on the menu, all you need to do is ask, but sadly I hear that they are changing the tapas menu soon, so hurry folks. I'd like to put a picture in here for you, but strangely, I can't trawl one up from the Net, nor can Woolly's provide me with one, even though I have dear friends in high places there. (This in an age when you can get a picture of the greater spotted leopard toad atop the Himalayas) so I shall have to trot down there to take one (all in the interests of research) for you asap.  

BUT, I digress, as usual. I promised to share some of my party planning experiences with you. We needed loads of candles and swathes of fabric, the cheaper the better, to create a canopy for our outdoor altar, and to tie lots of bows around trees and pillars and anything that would stand still for long enough. So, living in the vicinity of Spotty Dog and all the factory shops in that area of Retreat, I donned my doek and dark glasses and set off in search of said items. As luck would have it, I got everything I needed in Honeywell Road, with the two requisite shops being right next door to each other, and had fun making my purchases.

The Candle Factory Shop stocks an amazing range of candles, candle holders, and decorative items as well as an interesting selection of paper napkins. (Far preferable to buy them here than at Wrap 'n' Pack over the road, as this is a cleaner, friendlier environment.) Now I know that Mummy always said that only the finest damask would do, but in some circumstances, a tasteful, arty paper napkin will do when there are guests aplenty. I do however, draw the line at paper plates. A gal has to maintain standards, when all around her they appear to be slipping! I had a ball buying lots of little bowls in which to place floating candles, and lanterns for our courtyard. While I seem to have spent a small fortune, my daughters assure me I got good value for money, so pop in when you can at 6 Honeywell Road, Retreat 021-7012101
www.thecandlefactoryshop.co.za

I did visit the Fresh Flower Factory shop there as well, but found it very bleak and uninspiring, with a motley selection of stems on offer. 

Right next door at no 6B Honeywell Road is a new fabric shop, Global Unique Fabrics Tel: 7019971 run by Shahied Cader and Aunty Yasmine. They couldn't have been more helpful or friendly, and I made a few return trips to buy yards upon yards of pink and white satin which did a perfect job for our needs at a mere R10 per metre. The fabrics are fascinating and they also stock good old fashioned stuff like knitting needles and wool. (Where were they when I scoured the city looking for those items when Knitting Club required them, as they were nowhere to be found and seemed to become relics destined for the museum?) They have a delightful display of ribbons and braids, and a wonderful wall of buttons. Such exciting stuff just makes Suzy Q want to curl up with her crochet hook and get creative...

Funny to think that back in my day, girls were taught to sew at school, (boys, including Julius Malema, were automatically assigned to woodwork) and we could all thread needles and do lazy daisy tray cloths, which I doubt very much girls today can do. But hey, they're all using their brains and setting off to conquer the world, lucky things! www.thecandlefactoryshop.co.za